


Olive Oyl

by brejamison



Series: Catching Dick Grayson [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, Eating Disorders, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Lots of Dick and Hank bro-ness, Stressed Dick Grayson, Team as Family, og titans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brejamison/pseuds/brejamison
Summary: In which Dick can't eat anymore because it makes him sick and manages to keep it a secret from the OG Titans. Until he doesn't.
Relationships: Dawn Granger & Dick Grayson, Dawn Granger & Dick Grayson & Hank Hall & Donna Troy, Dick Grayson & Donna Troy, Dick Grayson & Hank Hall
Series: Catching Dick Grayson [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670530
Comments: 7
Kudos: 172





	Olive Oyl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous on Tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Anonymous+on+Tumblr).



**TITANS TOWER**   
**SAN FRANCISCO**

Dick couldn't eat. It wasn't that he didn't have an appetite or wasn't hungry. Because he definitely was. His stomach would grumble and complain and he would grab a snack or slap together a bunch of ingredients to make a meal. He would prepare his food, sit and get ready to eat like he always did. He would pick up his fork or spoon and take a bite. And immediately he wouldn't be hungry anymore. One maybe two bites in and his stomach would clench and protest and he'd feel queasy and an awful lot he was going to throw up. 

So he wouldn't eat. He'd sit for a moment, feeling sad and weirdly guilty, but no longer having any desire for food, then quickly dispose of his meal and get back to work. There was still so much to do to get the Tower up and running. He didn't have time to sit around and stuff his face anyway. They had their rooms selected but the training room still needed to be arranged, the tech room set up, Bruce's everything wiped from the computers, and he hadn't even started on his room yet. Obviously, that would be the last thing he would bother with.

Standing, he made his way back to his room to hide out for a few minutes. It was undecorated, the mattress still wrapped in protective plastic (because he hadn't exactly used it yet oops), and most of his furniture a scattered mess of unassembled pieces and screws. He closed the door, slipping the lock in place without thinking about it, and flopped onto his bed. The plastic crinkled under him but didn't destroy the softness of the king size mattress and he took a moment to melt into it. A short minute of quiet with his eyes shut and not actively doing anything. He didn't think about his unending to-do list, how many plates they would need to counteract how many Hank broke, what they should put in the garden, or how to adjust the thermostat. (He'd definitely need a separate one for his room because not everyone liked to sleep in a polar vortex like he did.) But he didn't worry about that right now. 

Someone knocked and he was suddenly worried about so many things. Sighing, he rolled off his bed and trudged to the door. With a click, it unlocked and opened. Dawn was waiting outside, phone to her ear. 

"We're ordering pizza," she grinned. Hank's indignant bark came through the speaker and she rolled her eyes with a smile. "Well, Hank is. I'm just relaying the orders." 

Dick crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "That so?"

Dawn gave him a face. "Well? What do you want?" 

"Oh," he blinked. Shit. "Uh, I'm good. Already ate." 

She frowned. "You did? What? We don't have any food." 

"Some snacks. Cereal," he shrugged. 

She looked sad and the fact that it was his fault hurt. "Oh. Well, I wish you would've said something. We were kind of planning a moving-in party." 

He laughed at her. "You think we're moved in?" 

"Well, we're a lot closer than we were." Telling Hank to hang on, she lowered the phone, frowning at Dick. "You really aren't going to eat with us?" 

Rolling his eyes, he wandered back into his room, grabbing his duffel bag for something to do. 

"What's going on with you?" Dawn wondered from the doorway. 

"Nothing," he shrugged, stuffing a handful of shirts into his chest of drawers - the only assembled piece of furniture in the room. 

"I just can't believe you don't want to celebrate. This was all your idea, you know." 

"I want to celebrate, Dawn," he corrected. "I'm just a little busy right now. There's still so much to do; we're barely unpacked much less moved in. Just think it's a little preemptive is all." 

Sighing, she rubbed her forehead. "Fine. We'll reschedule the party until we're a little more settled. But we're still getting pizza." More noises from the speaker. " _Hank_ is still getting pizza. So do you want any or not?" 

He paused, feeling his stomach gurgle and yes, he desperately wanted pizza. But the thought of grease and cheese made his throat swell and he shook his head. "I'm good. Next time, I promise." 

She considered it for a second, then sighed and pushed her disappointment away. He was stressed and had the most to do out of all of them. His furniture hadn't even been assembled yet, he was so busy. "Alright," she finally agreed with a sad smile. "Next time." 

He returned her grin and doubted it looked genuine. It seemed to satisfy her, though, and between that and Hank's constant pestering from the phone, she finally left. Once she was gone, Dick sighed, deflating. He should feel bad. He should be overrun with guilt and chase after her to apologize and say he'd like some pizza and of course he would love to celebrate moving in and she was right, it was totally worth celebrating. But he just couldn't bring himself to feel even a little bad. 

If anything, avoiding dinner was a relief. He wasn't sure why he couldn't eat but he doubted he'd be able to hide it for very long, not from his teammates and especially not that they were all living under the same roof. 

He didn't have a disorder, that much he knew. There was no need to purge after eating anything (mainly because he wasn't eating anything) and he wasn't striving to achieve a target weight. His body was fine and he wasn't trying to change it. He was just stressed and didn't have time. Maybe it was a weird form of ulcers or something, ones that didn't hurt. 

He didn't know but the lack of food wasn't hurting him or impending anything he had to do, so he just hoped it would pass and got back to work in the meantime. Scrubbing his face, he left his room and decided to start on the computers. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

They were cleaning up dinner a week later when Dick excused himself politely, motioning to his phone and explaining he had to take it. At their teasing rolled eyes, he promised to pay for dessert next time and rushed out of the room. Donna grabbed the Tupperware as Hank started the dishwater. Dawn collected their plates and frowned at one. 

"Hey," she asked. "Has anyone noticed Dick not eating a lot?" 

The other two looked at her. "Not really," Donna admitted carefully.

"What? He not actually eating like a bird?" Hank quipped. 

Dawn showed them the barely touched pile of food, flattened artfully to look smaller than it was. "From the looks of it, he hardly eats at all." 

The Amazonian took the plate, inspecting it. "He hardly touched this." 

Hank took the plate from her, giving it a quick glance, before dunking it into the soapy water. "Maybe he just wasn't hungry. Or he's a picky eater and too polite to say anything." 

Donna shook her head. "No, not that I know of. Alfred did most of the cooking but I've never seen Dick turn down a meal." 

"He hasn't been eating breakfast with me, either," Dawn realized, crossing her arms. "We used to, but he's been getting up early to start training. I just assumed he had already eaten by the time I got up." 

"No." Donna frowned. "I'm usually out on the porch reading in the mornings. I would have heard him if he came in or he would have said hi at least." 

They looked at Hank, who shrugged. "What?" 

"Well, you train in the mornings. Do you two usually eat together?" 

"We don't even train together. And if we did I woulda said something." 

Sighing, Dawn chewed her lip worriedly. She looked at Donna, finding the Amazonian wearing a similarly thoughtful expression. "Could he be... starving himself?" Dove asked quietly. 

Hank waved his hand, splashing bubbles all over the kitchen. "Whoa whoa whoa. So the guy has a small dinner and skips out on breakfast once in a while and you think he's, what, anorexic or something? Maybe he's just not hungry. Or he eats in his room. Probably had one too many candy bars for lunch, you know how he is." 

The ladies weren't convinced, sharing a concerned look. 

Hank groaned loudly. "Oh, I know where this is going. You two think there's some sort of conspiracy going on, so you're going to start sneaking around and comparing notes and all of this spy shit to get to the bottom of it." 

"Well, what would you do?" Dawn asked, turning to him defensively. 

He shrugged obviously. "Ask him?"

They laughed. 

"Yeah, that would work," Donna chuckled sardonically. 

"What? Why not?" 

"We're talking about the same Dick, right?" She dismissed the idea with a wave. "We can't ask him. That would only push him back even further." 

"Or, and consider this, he might surprise you and say that he had a big lunch." 

Dawn looked at him sweetly. "Hank, we appreciate your help and I'm sure Dick would appreciate your faith in his... forthcomingness, but please. There really might be something seriously wrong with him." 

He scoffed. "You mean worse than all the other fucking issues he has?" 

"Yes. Or maybe another one on top of all of those." She looked at Donna. "We already know about his depression." 

The Amazonian shrugged noncommittally because they knew _enough_ about his depression. No one knew as much about it as her and she doubted anyone ever would. She didn't like his not opening up to Dawn and Hank, but she understood it. And it certainly wasn't her position to tell him who to trust with his secrets. 

Dawn continued. "Not eating might be a symptom of that." 

"So ask him!"

"We can't." 

Hank rolled his eyes. "Jesus, I don't understand you people." 

Donna, always the diplomat, tried to offer a compromise. "I can try to talk to him. But only after we make sure something is wrong. If we notice him not eating, purging, or losing weight. Anything like that, you tell me. If it keeps going, I'll talk to him. But Hank might be right. It might be a one-time thing. And we don't want to scare him off." 

The large man shook his head sadly. "Can't believe you're talking about him like he's some scared animal or something. You do realize he's still Dick, right?"

Donna stood her ground, arguing softly. "We know that, Hank. Which is exactly why we are so worried and being this cautious. Trust me, when it comes to stuff like this, a scared animal is exactly what he is." 

"Hey, guys!" Dick called, leaning in from the hallway, the phone still pressed to his ear. "We got trouble." 

They sighed, tossing aside the cleaning. Donna threw the rest of the food in the fridge, Hank waving his hands dry as Dawn tossed her wet rag into the sink. 

"Just one night!" Hawk grumbled, the trio rushing to the door. "Just _one_ night!" 

Dick slapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow," he shrugged, following them to the tech room. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Hank couldn't stop thinking about their talk the other night. He was a tactile man and liked things he could touch and hold. He fought rough, he loved physically and talking about issues in the brain or body always bothered him deeply. He was a good medic because of this, always eager to put blood back inside of the body where it belonged, but was shit when it came to therapy or "talking it out." And he knew it. And Dick and Dawn and everyone knew it. But that didn't mean he didn't care or wasn't someone who could take a burden. Rather, he liked the responsibility of being leaned on, even if it scared the shit out of him. 

Donna said to keep an eye out for troubling signs, so he watched Dick closely. He observed and he tried to be clever about his word choice, asking if he wanted to share a beer or join him for some lunch. Dick seemed happy enough to be asked, but more often than not declined the offer, effortlessly coming up with a convincing excuse. It was tiresome to admit that the ladies' paranoia might have been well-founded, but the longer this went on the more inclined Hank was to agree; something was wrong with Dick. And he would know - they trained together most mornings. 

At least, they did now. Dick usually liked to train alone at the butt crack of dawn but after they suspected he might be using it to dodge breakfast, Hank made it a point to get up and join him. As much as it sucked, it was worth it. Dick was an insufferable asshole but Hank liked him. He liked spending time with their Boy Wonder. Even if he was doing it to spy on him, it was good teambuilding or whatever.

So when Dick started losing weight, Hank was the first to notice. His usually fitted shirts became loose and his strength was failing him ever so slightly. His arms didn't squeeze Hank's neck like they used to, his legs easier to kick out from under him, and his agility became slower, sloppier. 

"He's losing weight," Hank announced later as he burst into the great room. He didn't care if Dick was in there. In fact, he kind of hoped he was. This whole sneaking around behind his back thig was really getting to Hank and the sooner this whole mess was over with the better. 

He wasn't, though, Dawn and Donna looking at him in confusion. 

"What're you talking about?" Dawn asked. 

Donna sighed, earmarking her book and setting it aside. "Dick," she guessed heavily. 

"Yeah, Dick. The bastard is dropping pounds like it's his job," the large man grumbled, stomping to the kitchen for a cup of water. 

"How do you know?" Dawn wondered, following him across the room from her seat. 

"Because we've been sparring every morning and I know the difference between 190 Ibs of muscle and 179." 

Donna blinked at him. "He's lost 11 Ibs?!" 

"I don't know!" Hank bit back angrily, throwing back some of the cool liquid. "But I know it's a lot. Pretty significant if you ask me." 

Dawn collapsed into her chair with a sigh, turning to look at Donna. "Shit." 

"Shit," the Amazonian agreed with a nod. "That's serious." 

"You gonna talk to him now? That enough evidence for your little spy games?" Hank grumbled. 

Dawn waved at him. "We're just trying to help without..." 

"Scaring him off, yeah, you've said." The man scoffed, refilling his cup. "Whatever. You talk to him or I will. This is getting out of hand." 

"We need to be smart about this," Donna replied.

"Smart? This is what you call smart? Sitting around, waiting for him whither away while you finish your investigation?" 

Dick appeared in the doorway, paused mid-step and frowning at them. "What's going on?" 

"Bad news," Dawn sighed, settling herself. 

"About what?" 

Hank stomped by him, shoulders hunched in anger. "Doesn't matter. You'll find out soon enough I guess." 

"Hank...!" Donna called warningly. 

The larger man paused, shoving the cup into Dick's chest. "Here. Drink up. And try to eat something once in a goddamn while." 

Dick frowned at him, catching the glass. "What?" He turned to the ladies as Hank disappeared into the hallway. "What's going on?" They averted their eyes guiltily and he suddenly regretted asking, knowing pretty damn well what about going to come next. He looked at Donna, knowing she'd be the first to break the news. 

"We're worried about you, is all," she said finally. 

He crossed his arms. "How come?" 

"Have you been eating, Dick?" Dawn interrupted. 

He laughed at her. "Have... Have I been what?" 

"We're worried you haven't been eating," Donna clarified kindly. "We don't see you at breakfast or lunch, you barely touch dinner. Is there something wrong? Do you need help with anything?" 

Working his jaw, he chewed over his answer like so many untouched meals. "I'm fine." 

They didn't reply because they didn't want to dignify such a blatant lie with a response. Silently, he turned and went back to his room, locking the door shut behind him. They knew. They fucking knew and they would hate him for it. People hated what they couldn't understand. Not that he could blame them; he didn't even know why he was like this. He thought it had been the stress of the move, but they had been settled in for almost a week now. He hoped it wasn't some weird anxiety of living with them or in a new place. 

It didn't matter now, though. They knew he was broken and had wires crossed somewhere and would hate him for making them worry. Because he certainly did. Worry was a waste of time. This whole experiment was supposed to be fun, not clouded with the shadow of another fucking problem following him like a storm cloud. 

Retreating to his room was a coward's move and Bruce would be ashamed. But what else was he supposed to do? He couldn't argue. He couldn't defend something he didn't understand. So he decided to retreat and figure it out. He would eat if it killed him. Even if he spent all night in the bathroom throwing up every inch of his digestive system, he would chew and swallow a meal of food, goddamnit. 

Luckily, he had some candy packed away somewhere. Some chocolates he was reluctant to share or conveniently forgot to take to the kitchen. Of course, filling up on sugar first thing probably wasn't the greatest strategy, but it was all he had. And Hank's water. Water and chocolate. The breakfast (dinner?) of champions. 

He got halfway through a Snickers bar before the nausea and ashy taste became too overwhelming and he had to lie down, another miserable failure and pathetic attempt to be neurologically correct. 

Goddamnit, why couldn't he have a brain that didn't hate functioning correctly? 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

He had to get out of his room at some point, though. So in an attempt of normalcy, he was waiting for Hank in the training room the next morning. Hank eyed him carefully, aiming at nonchalance but missing by a wide margin. An actor he was not. Dick was sitting on the bench, wrapping his hands. 

"We boxing this morning, are we?" the larger man wondered, going for his own gloves. 

"Without gloves," Dick said. Hank shrugged, acquiescing. 

"Have it your way. But don't start crying when my bare ass knuckles put a dent in that pretty jaw of yours." 

Dick stood, throwing a few precise punches at the air. He remained silent, effectively unnerving Hank better than any interrogation could have. 

"Something on your mind?" Hawk wondered, flexing under his bandages. 

Dick shook his head. "No."

"Okay. So why the tall, dark, and brooding act?" 

"It's not an act." 

"Oh, so you're just naturally this testy in the morning. What, big bad Bat teach you that?" 

"Something like that."

"Yeah? Well cut it out before you brood the ladies to death." 

Dick scoffed bitterly and Hank suddenly wondered if they were talking about the same thing. Unsure, he figured "fuck it" and decided for the more direct approach. "Couldn't help but notice you didn't show up for the movie last night," he teased, circling Dick defensively. 

Dick guarded with his fists, footsteps quick and light. "So?" he replied, jabbing. 

Hank dodged it easily. "Just thought I should mention it. Seeing as it was Jaws." 

"I hate Jaws." 

"Bullshit," he replied, throwing himself forward. Dick ducked and pivoted, reappearing behind him. Hank turned to follow him. "You just hate the ocean." 

"I don't." 

"You do too. You're scared of it." 

Dick launched a fierce attack, Hank managing to block most of the punches. He doubled over slightly, allowing the taller man to grab him in a hold from behind. "I'm not afraid of the ocean," he seethed into Hank's ear.

"Then how come you run from it?" 

Snarling, Dick went for the back of Hank's knee, kicking the man to the ground. "I don't." 

"Huh. Weird response from someone who hid in his room all night." 

Reaching behind him, Hank grabbed Dick by the neck, hauling him over his shoulder. He landed harshly on his back, blinking and rolling away from Hank's knee slamming into the mat. He flipped to his feet, hands extended defensively. 

"I wasn't feeling good," he replied. 

"Boy, does that brooding come with a side of bull? Because the only thing you've been serving me all morning is shit," Hank sneered back. 

"Why do you care?" 

"You assuming I don't?"

"It's not your problem." 

"That why you ran away to your room last night?" 

Dick went for him again, gangly and uncoordinated. Hank caught and spun him around easily, wrapping a strong arm around his neck. "Call it whatever you want, dipshit," the larger man continued. "But there's no chance in hell you're going to take me down hand-to-hand when you're shedding pounds like a snake and its skin." 

"Don't know what you're talking about," Dick hissed back, flailing and clawing at the hands. 

Hank shoved him away, panting and pointing an angry finger at him. "You are so full of shit you can't even see straight, you know that? I spar with you every morning, birdbrain. If anyone is gonna notice you dropping an entire heavyweight category, it would be me." 

A dangerous darkness took over Dick's eyes and Hank rolled his, preparing for a fight. If Dick really wanted to solve this with punches, he would be more than happy to oblige. 

"I'm fine!" Dick spat, lunging forward. 

Hank pivoted around him. "I'm not saying you aren't!" Dick spun and continued the attack, forcing Hank backward. "No one's saying that! We're just worried, noticed you haven't exactly been eating!" 

"I am eating!" Dick kicked at him, connecting with Hank's side. 

The larger man swatted the leg away in confusion. Kicking wasn't part of the rules. "Even if you are, it's clearly not enough. Look at you!" 

"I'm fine!" He kicked at Hank's fists again, shoving him back a step. "I don't need your help!" 

Hank ducked and sidestepped, his defenses failing against the uncoordinated barrage of attacks. "Listen, it's not like we want to strap you down and shove food down your throat. If you got allergies, just say something. Hell, if you don't like my cooking we can order takeout." 

"How can I not like your cooking when I can't taste anything!" Dick screamed, delivering a powerful blow to Hank's chest. Hank stumbled across the room, crashing into the rack of spears. Snarling, Dick charged him again, fist raised. 

"Dick! That's enough!" Donna yelled from the doorway, towel drying her hair and glaring at the taller man. 

He stumbled, frozen by the sound of her voice. Hank was panting heavily, staring up at him in a mixture of confusion and anger. But mostly, Dick saw pity and it made his blood boil. 

"I'm done," he said, waving them away. 

"And where are you going?" Donna asked, stepping to block his exit. 

"To take a shower!" 

"Dick," Hank called, standing. "What do you mean you can't taste anything?" 

"I didn't!" he snapped. 

Donna frowned at him. "You can't taste anything? Is that why you don't eat?" 

"I do eat!" 

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Well, not that we can see." 

"Oh, now do you want me to document everything I put in my mouth?"

"Like your foot, maybe?" Hank shrugged. 

Dick shook his head at both of them. "I'm out. This is ridiculous," he muttered, shoving passed Donna, who stepped aside to let him pass. 

"Hey! Get back here! You wanna know what's ridiculous?" Hank began, marching after him. He walked into Donna's hand on his chest, holding him back. "What's ridiculous is you locking yourself in your room like a goddamn toddler throwing a tantrum every time someone tries to help you! Screw us for caring, right?" 

"Hank," the Amazonian warned quietly. Dick was still as a statue in the hallway, head bowed and fists tight. 

"What, you want me to back off? You want me to sit with my thumbs up my ass and spy quietly from a distance like you two have been, collecting evidence for your inquisition?"

Donna sighed deeply, eyes slipping shut. Shit. Pulling her hand back, she turned to look at Dick. His face was angled toward her slightly, watching her from the corner of his eye. "We didn't want to scare you off," she explained quietly. "We were waiting to see what was wrong, or even if there was anything." 

He raked his hands through his hair, pulling at the brown curls. He turned to Hank, recognition in his large eyes. "You've been sparring with me every morning." 

The larger man shrugged, waving his arms. "We thought you were skipping breakfast. Look, man, if you want to talk about it - or not. We don't have to. Just tell us what we can do to help." 

Dick looked between him and Donna, his teammate to his best friend. His friend to his confidant and sister. His eyes flicked to empty air over their shoulders for just a second. After a moment of listening to a voice only he could hear, he sighed. 

"I don't know." 

The Titans made a face, urging him to clarify. "You don't know how we can help or-" 

"I don't know what's wrong." 

Donna tilted her head, giving him those big eyes that meant she was looking right into his soul. He couldn't stop her so he didn't try. After so long of knowing him, she was intimately familiar with his cracks and tells. She could read him like a picture book and knew exactly what he meant. She just had to look closely and try. "Is it...?"

He shrugged, scrubbing at his face. "I don't know. Could be. Probably is, I guess." 

Hank frowned. " _It_? What's it? The, uh... _thing_ you got?" 

He was trying so they could forgive his unfavorable language. 

Donna nodded. "Yes, _that_." 

"Well, okay. Don't you have drugs for that? Don't they help?" 

The Amazonian saw the exact moment Dick shut down. He was tired and didn't want to talk about this and was so goddamn hungry. "Alright," she announced. "Let's go talk." Walking forward, she tapped Dick on the arm, prompting him to come with her. "Excuse us, Hank." 

The larger man groaned, rolling his eyes. "Sure, go. What do I care? It's not like I started all of this in the first place." 

Donna gave him an apologetic shrug and continued forward, Dick following obediently. 

Dawn appeared from the other end of the hallway, frowning at the tense atmosphere. "What happened?"

"Apparently Dick doesn't taste anything and they're going to talk about it." 

She watched him trudge into the training room. "You got him talking?" 

He rolled his stiff shoulder, picking up the wooden rack. "More or less." 

"That's great. Maybe he'll let us start helping him now." 

"Yeah. Maybe." 

The woman frowned curiously. "What's wrong?" 

"Just pissed. Idiot came at me like a fucking train. Don't think he said anything that was true the entire time we.... whatever happened." 

"He was scared," she soothed, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "People say a lot of mean things when they're scared. I'm sure he didn't mean them." 

It wasn't that, though. Loathe as he was to admit, Hank loved the pain in the ass and knowing he was suffering internally drove Hank up the fucking wall. And knowing there was shit all he could do about it only worsened the blow. 

He sighed. Dawn was right. He just had to take a breath and hope that everything would be okay. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Turns out, it _was_ the depression. In a rare moment of bearing his soul, Dick explained that he was plenty hungry, but food made him nauseous and anything that he could manage to eat tasted bland and tasteless. It wasn't that he was avoiding food on purpose or punishing himself; it just made him feel sick and as starving as he was, he didn't enjoy eating. So he... didn't. 

They sat in silence for a long moment after he finished, brains trying to wrap around what he had said. It was Dawn who broke the silence. 

"Can you eat _anything_?" she asked. 

Hands in his pockets and head bowed shamefully, he shrugged. "Don't know. I managed part of a Snickers the other day." 

"Part of?" Donna clarified.

"About half." 

"Can't eat his fruits and veggies but goddamn if he can keep down some chocolate," Hank teased, but the humor fell flat, only managing to cause Dick more shame. The ladies glared at him and he grumbled an apology. 

Dawn sat forward, looking at Dick pleadingly. "Why don't we try some stuff and see what you _can_ eat? Order some stuff, I can make some soup." 

"I'll try not to burn some eggs," Donna offered with a humorous chuckle. 

Dick laughed at her, grinning fondly. "We can try," he finally said, dragging his eyes to look at them individually. 

Hank threw his hands in the air. "A buffet! Perfect! Because I, for one, am starving after kicking your ass earlier." 

"You didn't kick my ass," Dick argued with a smirk, watching Hank trudge to the kitchen after their stack of takeout menus. 

"Pretty sure I did, Tiny." 

"Don't call me that." 

"What're you gonna do about? Take me down with your Olive Oyl arms?" 

Dawn laughed, turning to him. 

The man frowned at her. "What?" 

"You're telling me you know who Olive Oyl is?" 

He shrugged in confusion. "What? You think I spent my Saturday mornings watching exclusively superhero cartoons?" 

Dove made a face, standing to raid the fridge for ingredients. "Actually, yeah." 

"Well, I didn't. And if I was to guess, I would figure Golden Boy over there would've been all about Richie Rich," Hank teased, throwing Dick a look.

Dawn pushed him away from the counter, dumping a pile of Tupperware onto it. "Nah. He was definitely more into Johnny Quest." 

Donna laughed, pulling up a stool to the island. "You're both wrong." 

"Donna, no," Dick begged. 

She smirked dangerously at him, Dawn making a scandalous face. 

"Well, now you _have_ to tell us." 

"Scooby-Doo." 

Hank snorted. "The dumbass talking dog?" 

"Hey, Scooby is a highly intelligent Great Dane," Dick defended, slowly making his way to join the others. 

"He's a scaredy-cat who's addicted to, what were those, Scooby Treats or something-" 

"Scooby Snacks," Donna supplied. 

"Yes! Scooby Snacks. What kind of stupid name is that?"

Dawn made a face, shrugging innocently. "You know, I was always a Fred girl, myself." 

Donna snorted at her. "You would." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"The jock? Really?"

"Don't be mean! Fred got to unmask all the bad guys at the end of the day. He was very heroic." 

Donna rolled her eyes but grinned broadly. 

Dick stood a ways back, watching the scene unfold. This whole trusting thing was terrifying, but so far he had no reason to doubt that his teammates were the best candidates to handle his secrets. He just hoped he wouldn't let them down with how many he had. 


End file.
